


Ghosting

by concertconfetti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Look Valdo is a better person maybe later but right now he is A Ass, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No beta we die like stregobor should have, Oxenfurt (The Witcher), Oxenfurt Academy (The Witcher), Past Relationship(s), Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27920092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: Jaskier returns to Oxenfurt for the winter and thinks on his past relationship with Valdo Marx, Troubadour of Cidaris, and the value of a bard outside of his relationships.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 26
Kudos: 32
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #01





	Ghosting

Jaskier spoke often of the lovely streets of Oxenfurt - where he got his "true education" - but the streets felt more like scars he carried with him throughout the year, opened anew when he returned in the winter. He'd been away for near a decade, now, but with the dramatic (read: mundane) loss of the Countess De Stael's love (and housing), Jaskier found himself requesting his professorial apartments late in the year, days after Geralt bid him farewell for the winter. 

He arrived with little more to remind him of his journeys than his notebooks, Filavandrel's lute, and an old oversized cloak of Geralt's draped around his shoulders. 

_Not a gift,_ Geralt had insisted before Jaskier could even thank him, _I'd be a poor friend if I let you freeze on your way south._ Jaskier nearly cried - Geralt so rarely called him friend. He really ought to find people who willingly, enthusiastically shared their love with him, but Jaskier was nothing if not a tragedian in his relationships. 

Which brought him to his apartments - nearly exactly as he left them. Jaskier let his pack sag to the floor and danced around the shards of his old life, attempting to fit the new one within Oxenfurt's walls. 

Filavandrel's lute found its place on the easy chair near the window. Various chachkies and trinkets from his travels found their way from Jaskier's pack to his hands to empty spots on shelves where… well.

Where Valdo used to live.

It was a stupid thought, really - Valdo Marx lived in a townhouse on the otherside of town, now, bought with money he'd earned working at court. And from the Countess de Stael, he mused bitterly. He'd wooed the Countess out from under him, because of course he had, and then there was the whole djinn business, and now Jaskier was in his old apartments, sitting alone on his bed, gripping at the edges of Geralt's old cloak like it would protect him from the past. 

It didn't. 

_Valdo lounged on the easy chair like he'd simply grown out of the cushions, filling up the spaces in Jaskier's life so naturally it scared the younger bard sometimes. Sometimes it felt like he barely existed outside of Them, like the whirlwind of affection swallowed Jaskier up entirely._

_"You took the professorship," Valdo said, gaze pointed out of Jaskier's little window. Jaskier swallowed._

_"No - well, sort of," Jaskier stammered. Valdo's gaze snapped to Jaskier's face and, gods, he hated how hard he had to work just to get Valdo to look at him. "I'll be teaching Winter terms. When I decide to. They gave me a lot of freedom with my schedule, thank Melitele, so I can travel during the best times of the year and -"_

_"Travel? Jaskier, we talked about this - "_

_"No, we didn't, actually," Jaskier said, setting his jaw and straightening his back. "You told me what I was going to do. Ordered me around like some sort of...dog? Dog. And I want to travel. So. I'm going to travel and if… if you love me…"_

_"Love you?" Valdo snarled. "What gave you that ridiculous idea, Jaskier?"_

Jaskier wasn't sure what made him think Valdo loved him, looking back. He flinched slightly, remembering how the older man violently gathered his things. He'd broken Jaskier's lute in the process, something that was no accident - purchasing a new lute took almost all of the advance granted to Jaskier before he left Oxenfurt. And from there, the ghost of Valdo haunted him in the eyes of every jilted lover, every poor review, every batch of rotten food thrown at him after a performance. And when his fame grew alongside that of his… of the White Wolf, he'd be compared to the Troubadour of Cidaris at every turn. 

_"Did you actually want that man to die?" Geralt asked him, at their camp a few day's travel outside of Rinde. They'd laid in silence for a while, staring up at the stars._

_"Valdo Marx?" Jaskier asked, feigning indifference. "Well, with the clarity of mind provided by sobriety, I suppose he's not worth the effort. He's a hack, a thief, riding to coattails of bards two- no, three-times his skill, and if the Countess prefers his company then I suppose she had no taste to begin with, shame, she was an exceedingly kind patron but to throw me out on my ass on the word of- of that_ charlatan -"

_"Jaskier - "_

_" - I mean you know he told her I'd stolen from him? The gall of the man I cannot believe -"_

_"Jaskier."_

__"What." _Jaskier snapped. Geralt flinched slightly and Jaskier's heart dropped. "Oh, Geralt, I'm sorry, I -"_

_"It's fine," the Witcher growled. "Forget I asked. Got to sleep, bard."_

Jaskier frowned at the memory, gripping Geralt's cloak even closer before flopping backwards onto his bed, tangled in the cloak, his traveling clothes, and the duvet. Geralt had been markedly more open with him after that conversation, kinder almost. Did he give it away, how broken he was? Was it so noticeable that Jaskier needed constant reminders that he was worth something on his own? He wallowed in his thoughts until he felt the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes. 

"Oh, come now, Julian," he said to himself, voice thick and constrained with the effort of holding back his despair. "He's not worth all of this. He never was. Come on, get up." He eased himself off of his bed and trudged around, snuffing out his candles and banking the fire in his bedroom. He disrobed, made a mental note to write his family and to retrieve a number of books from the library, wrapped himself back in his cloak and eased himself into bed. He would feel better in the morning. 

Oxenfurt's streets would be full of Him and Valdo, the ghost of Them. Valdo kissed Jaskier for the first time in the student bar; they'd played together on many of the stages around town. The two of them danced through their schooling in lock step until the end - it seemed, to Jaskier, like love but he knew better, now. He might carry the scars forever, but he knew, now, that scars mean you survived the worst the world could throw at you. And if the worst the world had was Valdo fucking Marx? Well. 

There were worse monsters out there.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Ghosting by Mother Mother


End file.
